Work Text:
Dick pants, kneeling on the dirty rooftop, his lungs ache, his thighs burn, it's been too long since he flew. His sudden adoption four years ago put a stop to his acrobatic endeavors, not only the pain of losing his parents however that did damper his spirit. Dick's adopted father is protective, to put it lightly, though it is more akin to controlling than true protectiveness born from care. He is also the reason Dick is on this rooftop right now, staring at the back of Gotham's Dark Knight.
A man cloaked in black, rippling with muscle, dark paint smudged around his piercing eyes. He turns to stare back at Dick, a hand on his utility belt, the straight edge of his jaw bulging from how hard he grits his teeth. Batman is on edge, Dick can't blame him, he did just chase the man from rooftop to rooftop for the last twenty minutes. Though it seems he is waiting for Dick to catch his breath, it takes a minute or two, the bustle of the city and his harsh gasping the only sound to break the stunted silence.
When Dick finally gets his bearings he stands up on quaking legs, it's not just the sudden increase in physical activity that has him shaking. It's what he is about to ask the Dark Knight, what he is about to admit, something he never thought he could muster up the bravery to do. But Batman's presence brings a sense of relief to Dick, being near him fills Dick with more courage than he has felt in four years. All the things stolen from him by Bruce Wayne.
“I'm not a villain Mr. Batman sir, just didn't think of another way I could get you alone.” Dick says, stumbling like a newborn fawn, just a bit closer to Gotham's hero. Batman has fully turned now, facing him head on, the cut of his jaw still clenched tight.
“Wait, that kinda sounds weird huh? I'm sorry, I'm nervous.” Stuttering over his reply Dick puts his hands up in a placating gesture, the toe of his shoes squeaking as he grinds them into stone. He feels as his spine curls inward, making himself smaller and less intimidating. His nerves are palpable, visceral and he second guesses himself. He could turn back now, and Batman would forget him, maybe he would years from now recall the strange boy he met, unlikely as that is.
Dick's resolve wavers for a moment but the thought of going back to that manor right now is more terrifying than just blurting out the truth to this random man. He is a hero though, this horrid city's savior, hopefully he can be Dick's too.
Before Dick can speak again to ask the question burning at the tip of his tongue, Batman pipes up, a strangled growl at first then words.
“Why exactly did you need to get me alone?”
His voice is like coarse gravel, deep and on the cusp of being menacing, as if he gargles saltwater rocks in his free time instead of kicking villain ass. And though he sounds just as he does in the grainy low quality videos Dick has dug up, a wicked feeling sends shivers up his spine. His stomach drops, a pit that swallows his fear and spits out anxiety, blood pumping faster in his veins, a wave of dizziness blurring his vision. Dick chalks up his apprehension to what he is about to bring to light. This confession has the potential to rock the world, not just the city, Dick would be hard pressed to find a person alive who hasn't heard of his adoptive father.
Bruce Wayne.
A name like an anvil to his guts, Bruce is a man with deep pockets and deeper darker secrets. Dick doesn't doubt that Bruce has more than the police at his disposal, the man so often out at all hours of the day when he isn't spreading his filth in the darkness of Wayne Manor. Dick suspects organized crime, but that might be wishful thinking, he wants his pathetic excuse of a guardian to show his evil outwardly, he wants everyone to see Bruce as Dick sees him. A monster.
“I–I need help.” Dick whispers, a sob stuck in his throat tittering on the edge of escape. “No one else will listen, no one that could help anyway. But you–” Dick feels a few stray tears slip down his cheeks, hot against the chill of his skin. “You're Batman. If anyone would listen to me it's you right?” His voice cracks and the sob bubbles up to tear from him, he hunches further into himself hoping to disappear into nothingness. He feels more humiliated at this moment than brave, his arms pressing into his chest as he hugs himself, self soothing a behavior he has learned over the last couple years.
“Tell me, maybe I can help. Breathe in, and calm yourself, I'm not going anywhere.” He sounds closer now, his voice still deep and gravel rough but it's lower now, softer in a way. That menacing sharpness gone, something gentle and almost consoling replacing it.
Dick imagines that this is how a real guardian would speak to him, he can still remember how his real dad sounded. Kind and loving and encouraging, everything a bright little boy could ask for. He thinks Batman could be just as loving as his dad, if only he had been the one to adopt him.
“Someone is hurting me.” It takes all of Dick's courage to spit it out, but it's as if a weight is lifted from his chest, like the restriction placed on his throat has been burned away. He can't stop now. “It's been happening almost every night. For four years. I've tried to tell people, anyone I could but he is too powerful. No one would listen, or believe me. I just want him to stop!” Dick yells, another wracking sob ripped from the barrier of his teeth. He shakes as if he is seizing, rocks a bit back and forth, his tears a steaming river that wet the collar of his too thin shirt. “He's touching me, he forces me to do bad, gross, awful things that make me wanna die and no one cares! I just want him to stop, to be stopped. I want you to stop him! By any means necessary. I want you to kill Bruce Wayne!”
Dick's shout echoes in the air around the pair, it rings louder than a gunshot, it's all Dick can do to not crumple to his knees like a used tissue. He doesn't even look at Batman anymore, too cowardly to look him in the eye, bravado withering to dust under the crushing weight of fear. The man's reaction, of his rejection. That even Batman will refuse to help, that Dick truly has no hope of escaping the hell of the Manor and the oppression of Bruce Wayne.
His shaking legs are made of lead, dragging him down as the adrenaline fades. He doesn't hit the ground though, arms thick with corded muscle catch him before that happens. Dick flinches a bit then settles into Batman's chest plate, sagging further within those comforting arms, those gentle hands that rub the tension from his spine. His tear stained wail is muffled by the kevlar, and he clutches Batman closer to better bury his cries, his hands scrambling to find purchase against the suit.
Batman comforts him for a few minutes, they are the best moments of his life, Dick feels that sense of hope from before swelling inside of him again. He knows that logically Batman won't be murdering his adopted father, he is well aware of the vigilantes moral code but Dick can't think of a person more deserving of the breaking of morals than Bruce. Dick hopes though that this confirms that Batman will be helping him, that he won't force Dick back to Bruce, that he isn't under the billionaire's influence too. That he is deserving of the mantle Dick has placed him on, that Dick is making the right choice.
“Don't worry, I'm here for you, I'm going to fix this. I'm going to help you, Richard.”
It takes a moment for the sentence to sink in. Dick is elated, the smallest of smiles tugging his lips upward, that swelling feeling of hope cresting to spill warmth through his chest. Someone is finally listening to him, someone finally believes him, and is going to offer a hand to him.
….That feeling crashes to a halt as quickly as it comes into fruition. The pit of anxiety opens its maw once more, the queasy roil of his stomach, the liquid slick rot of realization hitting harder than a barreling truck. He sobs harder, the hands that clutched at that armor push off of it now, but muscular arms hold him tighter.
He never told Bat–the man his name.